And Now We're Even
by Neuronerd
Summary: The paths of a German nurse and an American soldier cross not once but twice and neither of them realize how life altering chance can be until it's nearly over. AU & totally not a love story...
1. Yankee Doodle at Bat

**A/N: Just got reacquainted with the beautiful Eli Roth and the Inglorious Basterds. I forgot just how awesome he was, so here is a little mini FF in homage to the Bear Jew in which I totally rewrite the origin and circumstances of his becoming a Basterd. Enjoy! **

**Chapter 1- Yankee Doodle at Bat**

It was so long ago that it seems like a different lifetime, but I remember the moment with such clarity that I know I will never forget no matter how much of my memory fades with time. I can recall the very night that my path crossed with that of the man who came be known and feared as the Bear Jew, although at the time it was a destiny even he wasn't aware of. So much has been said about him as to make the man a myth and from what I can tell, not all of it was simple exaggeration, but as for my part our association was simple: I saved his life and he in turn saved mine- no more and no less.

Things were so much simpler then and yet so much more complex. Lives were valued in terms of heritage and in that respect I was a millionaire and he a pauper although my good fortune was largely wasted because while in the light of day I was loyal to the Fuhrer, by night I loathed the policy that I was expected to uphold. Being a good German citizen meant depersonalizing the Jew as a race of dogs unworthy of the lead needed to execute them and any hesitation to publicly spit into the face of a Jew was enough to raise suspicion. Still, there were those of us who quietly expressed our resistance by any means that we could manage from giving away scraps of bread and bandages to allowing the fleeing persecuted to sleep on our property with the understanding that should they be discovered, they would be denounced as trespassers. It was not enough for me to feel as if I was truly making any difference because I knew that the chances were great that those I attempted to assist would likely be dead or recaptured before they could reach the advancing Allied armies that swiftly approached from the West. Some, I found out, arrived sooner rather than later.

It was no secret that young, drunken soldiers out of sheer boredom or frustration at the encroaching armies would at times wander into the ghetto where Jews were forced to live like cramped cattle, impoverished and starving, to take out their anger by raping the women and beating or sometimes even killing the men. They were no respecter of age, children and the elderly were just as often brutalized as the young and fit because the soldiers knew there would be no inquest into their misdeeds. No commanding officer would waste time or personnel on investigating such matters because in some way it was seen as harmless sport- a healthy way to blow off steam and maintain morale. There were rumors of kidnappings and horrific medical experimentation being carried out, but no one knew for sure because the missing were never returned to their families.

At the time, I worked at a medical clinic as a nurse and my daily commute took me along the Eastern edge of the ghetto where the two worlds collided. The war had taken much from everyone and every citizen was expected to contribute what they could to the ever increasing demands of maintaining the insatiable appetite of the war machine. All went without for the sake of the Motherland and for the most part people suffered quietly through long and cold winters with minimal food and clothing because we were told our troops endured the same and in some cases much harsher conditions. But if the ordinary German had thinning coats to brace themselves against the chill of the waning winter days, Jews huddled together swathed in dilapidated rags around the few fires they were permitted to burn. Many died of exposure and not a day went by that I did not hear the traditional wailing and prayers for the dead drifting from somewhere in the quarters.

The night I met the Bear Jew was a particularly cold one and it is one that I will never forget. I was returning to my small house late one night after a long shift at the clinic and as I usually did, I passed along the edge of the ghetto keeping my head down to ward off the cold and not have to view the suffering constantly on display. I was never afraid to walk alone at night because SS soldiers were always present and despite the fact that many young men were far from home and facing death at any moment, they were polite to ladies and would gladly escort me home if only I asked. Most were honorable men even if they were pressed into service and they did their duty with honor and courage. Some of the soldiers believed every word that spewed from the Fuhrer's lips, but most just wanted to return to their farms and families. I washed up as well as I could with what water I had the energy to boil, had a snack of bread and cheese, and wrapped up tightly in a blanket to get some sleep when I was awakened by a frantic pounding on my door. Alarmed, I lit a lamp and rushed to the open it to see two of my very good friends looking at me in a panic. "Mila," my good friend Hannah implored, "you must help."

"For you, anything!" I exclaimed. Hannah and Elias were my schoolmates from Kindergarten and felt the same way as I about affairs of state. "Are you in trouble?"

"No, but we will be if we are caught." Elias grumbled, looking up and down the street for wandering guards.

"Why?" I asked. I had never seen him so frightened and it was starting to scare me.

"We were returning from a late dinner and happened upon three soldiers beating a man in the street. Please, you are a nurse, you must help him." Hannah quickly explained. "He's American."

"American?" I hissed. "But how?" The Allied armies were supposed to be hundreds of miles away.

"Please, Mila," Elias stressed, "we cannot wait out here. We took a risk in bringing him here and I do not want to be executed as a traitor."

"You brought him?" I asked looking out into the darkness but seeing nothing but a good deal of blood on his clothing that I hadn't noticed before. I didn't know this American, but if he was bleeding that badly, he surely needed my help. "Fetch him before someone sees us." I kept watch for soldiers while Hannah and Elias fished a large man out of my bushes and hauled him into my home along with a baseball bat stained with blood.

In the dim light of the kitchen, it became clear that they had not told me the entire truth. As he lay limply on my kitchen table, barely conscious of his surroundings and moaning softly, I pursed my lips. "A Jew." It seemed incomprehensible, but somehow an American had found his way into the ghetto for he was marked with the telltale yellow star on his torn and bloodied shirt.

"I can't explain it." Elias shook his head dumbfounded. "But the soldiers were striking him with the bat and mocking him for the American sport and when he was no longer moving, they left him for dead in the middle of the street. Hannah and I waited until no one was around and he carried him here. We tried to talk to him to keep him alert, but he doesn't seem to speak German."

Hannah agreed. "He only mumbled a few words in English. He wouldn't say his name, but he did seem to want the stick they beat him with."

"Are we too late?" Elias asked worriedly as he looked down on the man he tried to help.

The American Jew had taken a very vicious beating and he seemed to be bleeding from every pore, but through the haze in his dark eyes he made it clear that he hadn't given up and neither was I. "He is still breathing," I answered in a determined tone as I set to work removing his shirt to get a better look at his injuries, "and for now that is enough."

"Will you need our help?" Hannah offered anxiously. She was an engineer by trade and not familiar with medicine, but I knew she was without a doubt willing to do anything I asked of her.

After getting a good look at his injuries, I reluctantly had to ask for assistance. I simply didn't have what I needed to help him in my home. "Yes, for just a little bit." I conceded. "I must go to the clinic and get supplies. Will you put on some water to boil and tear up some rags to use from the linen closet? Keep an eye on him. Speak to him, gently prod him if you have to, but try to keep him awake until I return." She accepted her task with grim efficiency and determination while I fetched my threadbare coat and prepared to venture out into the night.

"I will go with you." Elias declared. "The soldiers will be less suspicious if you are with a man." I didn't want to involve them any more than they had already volunteered for, but he was right and we didn't have time to lose on bored and inquisitive soldiers.

Elias and I walked as quickly as we could without appearing overly hurried to the clinic where I quietly but quickly slipped in through an unlocked window and retrieved bandages, antiseptic, medicine, and thread. Elias and I divided the bounty amongst our empty pockets and hurried back, nervous that at any moment we would be stopped and caught with the stolen supplies. Upon our return, we found Hannah alternately tearing the fabric of a tablecloth and yelling at the American to keep his eyes open in pointed German. The American responded in a slur of syllables, but the things that came across clearly were "kraut" and "broad." Hannah may not have known English, but she certainly recognized the derogatory name for Germans popular with the Allies. Although she was offended, she showed the wounded man mercy and did not punish him for his vulgarity, perhaps assuming that he was not entirely at himself and it slipped out.

Elias and I emptied our pockets onto the counter while Hannah poured the hot water into a porcelain bowl to cool. The American's eyes lazily followed us as though he was suspicious of us doing harm despite all that had been done to try and help him. Even if he wasn't a European Jew, surely he had been in the ghetto long enough for his people to tell him that we risked death in coming to his aid. Surely someone in the encampment spoke his language even if he didn't speak theirs. I learned English in school, but I could not speak it so well as to pass for American or even British. Still, I was confident that it was good enough to communicate and I thanked my lucky stars that my friends were not successful in persuading me to take French along with them. He was probably typical of most Americans in that he only spoke his own language. He only briefly took notice when my colleagues went to the living room to keep watch out the windows just in case a soldier would wander too close to the house and see me working on a patient through the curtains.

I carefully dipped a corner of a freshly torn rag into the steaming water and wrung it out. I smiled at him tentatively to convey that I meant him no harm and dabbed at a small cut on his shoulder. If I could show him that I intended to be gentle, he would be more likely to trust me and that would become very important when it came to the deeper and more serious wounds that I would have to stich without the benefit of anesthetic. His eyes never left me while I worked and I could all but see the questions forming in his sluggish mind. To ease the tension, I briefly smiled and asked, "What is your name?"

His dark eyes widened slightly when he heard familiar words in his own language. It was my hope that he felt even a small amount of relief to know that he could be understood in a house full of Germans, but a small smile indicated that although he may not have been completely in his right mind, there were still some things that he knew shouldn't be shared. "Donny" was all he said and it was clear that he wasn't going to say anymore on that particular subject.

I pretended that his arrogance didn't bother me and I spoke to him in the politest tone possible. "Hello, Donny. My name is Mila."

"Hi-ya." He sarcastically replied with an odd accent as his eyes drifted shut.

I was starting to see why the soldiers beat him as they did and my frustration got the better of me. I pressed down on a fresh blue bruise with a little more force than necessary to wipe away the drying blood and that got his attention. "You are a Jew from the ghetto, yes?" I clipped, still a little irritated.

"Yeah…" he cautiously eyed me, wary that I might punish him again, "I mean…sorta."

He laid his head back with a solid "thud" on the table and suddenly I felt bad for being so rough with him. He had to be in a tremendous amount of pain and possibly disoriented from a head injury and I was angry that he was not being a mannerly gentleman. He was no doubt aware that the yellow star on his shirt marked him as less than human and by all rights I could finish the job the soldiers started and be called a hero for it no less. He didn't know me or my plans for him, so I thought it best to inform him. "You are hurt very badly." I softly said, being as gentle with him as possible in the hopes he would forgive me for my little tantrum. I poured a little more hot water into the bowl and continued to gingerly swab his cold skin and he seemed to find at least a little comfort in the warmth of the water and my commitment to henceforth remain clam. "You will not be able to return to the ghetto until you recover enough to make the journey. You are welcome to stay here while you heal, but we must be careful or we will be found out."

His broad, muscular chest trembled slightly with his laughter and he smiled grandly. "Oh, I ain't goin' back." He declared with a wide smile. "I don't belong there nohow."

I was very surprised. "You are not Jewish?" Sometimes people did get sent to the ghetto by mistake- accused by spiteful neighbors or spurned lovers.

He opened his eyes to look directly at me and his expression was sincere. "Sure as shit I am! But in case ya couldn't tell, lady, I ain't exactly from these parts and the only place I'm goin' is back to _my_ parts."

Between his thick accent, the fast pace at which he talked, and the slang he used, it was a little difficult for me to follow because I had learned proper British English and only a few Yankee words that the Americans tended to use, but his opposition to returning to the ghetto was clear and no matter his reason, I couldn't blame him. I knew I couldn't put it off any longer, so I wrapped a small chunk of ice in a wet rag and pressed it against the deepest cut that ran along his flank in a jagged line. He hissed and moved away slightly, but remained stoic despite the pain and chill that made him break out into goose bumps that dotted his exposed skin. "I'm sorry," I quietly offered, "but this will numb it so I can clean your wound well and sew it together." He nodded with his eyes clenched tight and his teeth bared, but he was determined to remain still and take it like a man- a trademark of the brave, macho American. While I held the cold bundle against his side, I thought it best to try and distract him. "How did this happen?"

Either the ice was lessening the pain or he gave my inquiry far more attention than he needed to because he relaxed somewhat and panted out, "Whadya mean? That," he jerked his head slightly toward my hand, causing his dark hair to flop listlessly across his forehead slick with sweat, "or the whole deal?"

"Let's start with this." I smiled, glad to see that he was at least willing to entertain my questions more so than he was at the start.

He again laid his head back with an exhausted sigh and answered, "The krauts had me on the ground and they kept kickin' me with their damn jackboots. One of the buckles caught me, I guess." The weariness in his voice was evident and it was clear he was at the limit of his physical endurance, but he knew he still had a long way to go.

Of course I wanted to know more of the story, but the topic only served to add to his discomfort so I switched gears. "You are the first American I have met." I announced, removing the ice and prodding the wound to see if he could tolerate it.

He didn't wince or show any sign of discomfort, in fact he smirked. "Better or worse than ya expected?" He asked cockily.

"You are bigger than the Americans I see on the propaganda films." I giggled. "The Americans are supposed to be smaller and not very good shots."

His smile widened despite my scrubbing of the gaping wound and he said, "Ya can't believe everything you see in those films, doll. Hell, I don't believe the films on our side, either. It's all a bunch of dirty lies."

I had to work quickly because he was bleeding profusely and the ice would soon wear off, so I pulled the needle and thread through his skin as fast as I could even if it wasn't the most beautiful line I had ever done. I could tell by the way the corner of his mouth twitched every time I pierced his skin that I was running short on time. "I can stop and…"

"Nah." He dissented through his clenched teeth. "I just wanna be done with it. Keep goin'." Hannah tossed back worried glances at his low growling, but she could tell by his white knuckled grip on the edge of the table that I was in no danger. "Do me a favor though and hurry, lady. You ain't exactly fixin' your stockings here."

And hurry I did until the last knot was tied and he let out a huge sigh of relief as the tension in his body relaxed and he slumped back to the table in an exhausted, spent, and sweaty heap of American born muscle. The worst was over, and I picked up another cool rag to blot the perspiration and remaining blood from his ashen face. "You did well." I commended. "That was the worst of it."

He panted lightly as his eyes fluttered shut. "Thank God. It felt like getting my ass kicked twice in one night. I haven't fought like that since the day I got jumped in an alley by two Irish kids back in Boston."

"Did you win?" I inquired pleasantly. The only thing I knew about Boston was that it was the home of the rebellion against the British and it was a wonder to me how the two nations got along.

He flashed a faint grin and replied, "I'm here, ain't I?" He managed to sit up long enough for me to wrap bandages around his broad chest to alleviate the ache of sore ribs and he patiently allowed me to clean him up as much as possible, but his sanguine acceptance probably had more to do with the sedative I gave him to help with the pain than it did his general level of comfort with me. Although he was clearly fighting to stay awake, his mind was still active and after Elias and I helped him to my bed to lie down, he cautiously asked what I knew had been weighing on his mind the moment he found himself staring at my kitchen ceiling. "So why are you doin' this?" He asked in a dreamy voice as the medication began to win the battle. "Why help me? An American _and_ a Jew?"

I spread out the last worn blanket that I had in the house over him to keep him warm and watched his dark eyes catch the flickering light of the lamp as each blink became longer and longer. "Because not all Germans are evil, Donny. Some of us just want to live in peace." I answered, quietly shutting the door behind me so he could rest.


	2. Fair or Foul?

**Chapter 2- Fair or Foul?**

Apparently being in two fights in one night was tiring, because he slept for a very long time. After the 16 hour mark I began to worry and would quietly open the door to check on him and make sure he was still breathing. He looked so peaceful despite the cuts and bruises that marred his face and it gave me some measure of satisfaction to know that he was comfortable enough to allow himself to sleep so deeply rather than keeping one eye open in the event I decided to dispatch him. It took a lot of convincing, but I persuaded Elias and Hannah that I was not afraid of the strapping American and urged them to go home at first light. I wasn't particularly afraid of him, but it would have been foolishness to not recognize that we were meant to me enemies, both in nationality and heritage and that knowledge kept a safe distance between us even if we had a tentative treaty.

It was well into the late evening when he finally woke and emerged from my bedroom limping, wincing, and cradling his sore ribs. "Hi-ya." He growled as he made his way to the kitchen and gingerly sat in a chair, holding his head in his hands. "I see ya didn't feel like killin' me after all."

I joined him and smiled lightly at his pitiful state. "It doesn't look like I have to. Are you hungry? I don't have much, but…"

He glanced up and squinted. "Don't matter. I could eat the ass end outta a dead goat right now. Whatever ya got's fine."

I busied myself making a simple sandwich out of bread, cheese, and a few slices of cold meat. "Do you need more medicine?"

"Nah. That stuff makes me feel like they hit me in the head with the damn bat. Does more bad than good." Almost as an afterthought, he looked around and asked, "Where'd it go, anyway?"

I placed his humble dinner on the table in front of him along with a glass of water and answered, "I put it in the closet for now. Did you bring it with you from America?"

He paused and glanced at the sandwich. "This ain't ham, is it?"

"No." I laughed. Good ham was an expensive item that most couldn't afford. Any meat at all was a luxury, but I didn't feel any hesitation at allowing him to eat what little I had because he needed the nutrition more than I.

"Good, 'cause I ain't supposed to have stuff like that, but fuck it. I'd rather live dirty than die of righteousness." He shook his head and tried to speak with a gargantuan bite of food in his mouth. "Anyways, one of the krauts had it. I have no idea what they said, but he gestured to his dog tags and I caught 'Ami' and 'Berlin', so I'm guessin' that he got it off a dead GI." He swallowed as he chuckled. "He didn't know a damn thing about baseball. He held the thing like a golf club, no wonder his swing sucked. Lucky for me I guess."

"You were lucky." I agreed looking over the deep purple and blue bruises that covered his torso and arms. "He could have broken your bones and that might have been fatal."

He ran a hand through his dark mop of hair and grinned. "He'd have to try a lot harder than he did. Scrappy Jewish kids from the streets of Boston don't break all that easy."

"So are you a soldier?" I asked intrigued. "The Allies are supposed to be hundreds of miles away."

His eyes sparkled mischievously as he smiled. "I told ya, don't believe everything you see in the cinema." He knew that his answer, witty as it was, wouldn't be enough to satiate my curiosity so he gave a small sympathetic nod. "Yeah I'm in the army, but I can't tell ya any more than that."

"I understand, it is better for me not to know. But how were you placed in the ghetto rather than executed on your capture?" To have his dog tag would be a high honor for any German soldier.

"That I can answer." He mumbled through the last vestiges of his sandwich. "I got separated from my unit about 15 miles from here and another Jewish family took me in. While I was with them, the SS came and they told them that I was deaf sos they wouldn't know I didn't speak a lick of German and that I was American. The krauts shipped some of the family off East and a few of us were sent to the ghetto."

My face immediately blanched. "To the East…"

He cut me off with an irritated, "Yeah, I know and believe me I say a prayer for them because them people were saints. They saved my life. The only reason I ain't smoke in the sky is 'cause they told them I was a good worker. Never thought working all those years as a meatpacker on the docks would ever come in handy, but I could toss a 50 pound bag of grain like it was a grenade and it saved my ass."

He shivered slightly and curled his arm a little tighter around his midsection to preserve his body heat and I immediately jumped to my feet. "I am sorry it is cold tonight and I have forgotten to return your shirt for you to wear." I fetched the tattered grey garment that I had washed and folded that morning and handed it to him.

Rather than be grateful, he took it from my hands and sneered at the yellow star stitched into the fabric before tossing it aside. "I ain't willingly puttin' that on ever again. I came here so other people wouldn't have to either."

I felt ashamed for my mistake and awkwardly stammered, "I…I did not mean, I…"

If the expression on his face was any indication, he felt equally uncomfortable. "Look, I didn't mean no harm." He sighed. "I know ya didn't mean nothin' by it, it's just that when I signed up I did it 'cause back home we heard these stories, see. Stories about the way Jews were treated and I didn't wanna believe it was true, but when I got over here I didn't just hear about it, I saw it. Every town and village I marched into it was always the same so now it just pisses me off 'cause every goddamned yellow star I see reminds me of one more Jew who was robbed, beaten, and killed and for what?" The passion in his dark eyes blazed hot. "So we could all have blonde hair and blue eyes? Fuck that."

I lowered my eyes in shame because I had no answers for him. I was German and proud of my family, but I did not understand or agree with the leaders who insisted that we would all become a better society if only we could free ourselves of the common Jew, as if that alone could solve all of our problems.

"Ya know what, though? I think you are the first decent German I've met since crossing the Atlantic. Maybe not all of your people are evil, but too many of them are. Wanna know why the krauts went yard on me last night? 'Cause they thought I was deaf. They thought they could pick on me 'cause I was a gimp and they could get away with it, but they were surprised that hearin' ain't got nothin' to do with swingin' your fists and I woulda beat the potatoes out of them too if one of them didn't have that bat."

"They could have killed you." I quietly interjected. "I'm surprised they didn't shoot you when you started getting the better of them."

"I didn't care if they killed me or not, I sure as hell wasn't gonna take it laying down. Maybe if enough of us stood up to fight, they might get the message." He answered defiantly. "Maybe a group of us oughtta get together and roam around givin' the bastards a taste of their own medicine."

"Wouldn't that be something?" I grinned warmly. "Imagine an uprising of the Jews."

An easy smile graced his face and it made me wonder about what kind of person he was back in America. What was his life like and would it be the same when he returned? Did he have family waiting for him? If he did he didn't speak of them, but he did say there were a few who were with him in the ghetto and they no doubt wondered what became of him, perhaps even fearful that he had been one of the unlucky ones who just randomly disappeared. "If you do not intend to return to the ghetto, would you like to send word to those who helped you that you are well? They must worry about you."

He paused to consider my offer and I knew that while he felt a sense of responsibility to them, a mysterious fate may in the end be better for them because they could honestly say they didn't know of his whereabouts should they ever be questioned. Finally, he settled on a compromise and instructed, "Find Eliot Goldstein and tell him that I escaped. Nothing more, ya hear?" He warned with a serious glare. "He speaks German and he works in a grocery shop on the West side called Shemel's." I nodded and wrapped my coat around me tightly to go. "Eh," he called hesitantly, "while you're there ask him for my stuff. I want it back."

"I will do as you ask," I eagerly nodded, "but I have something to ask of you in return."

The suspicion was thick in his eyes as he squinted. "Yeah?" He cautiously asked.

I couldn't help but giggle at feeling just a little rude. "While I am away, boil some water and take a bath. It is not healthy to go so long between washings."

He nodded and half smiled. "Sounds like a nice way to tell me I stink, but if it's for my health, then well, ya know…" He shrugged good naturedly.

I was glad he wasn't offended and planned to stay out as long as I could to give him plenty of time to see to himself. "Try not to get your stitches wet. In fact, leave them be if possible and I will see to them when I return. I will also gather some clothing from Elias for you to wear. Your clothing is beyond repair."

He glanced down at his blood stained pants and chuckled. "It's a little too cold to be wanderin' your house butt naked, I guess. I don't wanna give ya the impression that I ain't proportional or nothin'."

My face flushed slightly. Americans were rumored to be uncouth and he seemed to embrace the careless way they casually tossed around curses and innuendo in polite company. "I will return in approximately 1 hour." I mumbled as I turned to go, eager to leave the strange tension behind.

I was not accustomed to wandering the ghetto and had never seen more of it than the outskirts before, but deep in the heart of it I was viewed with extreme suspicion and loathing and it was a simply awful feeling to know they harbored a secret fear that the purpose of my being there could mean no good for them. It was a strange world turned upside down where I was the one who was marked for all to see as an outsider by my lack of a yellow star and I felt the weight of their stares and a palpable sense of hatred that made me worry for my safety. It was foolish for me to come alone so late at night, but I passed through the dirty streets as bravely as I could until I found the little shop I was directed to.

An older woman was sweeping the floors of the humble little grocery and paid me no mind, but a man I took for the store's owner sized me up with a sense of forced politeness and inquired, "How may I help you?"

I glanced nervously at the bare shelves that surrounded me and the signs written in a mix of German and Hebrew and meekly replied, "I am looking for Eliot Goldstein, I was sent to deliver a message to him."

The couple exchanged hesitant glances, but the old man waddled into the back of the store to fulfill my request. The woman continued to keep watch over me as though she were waiting for me to steal one of the few items on display and run away until a tall, young man came to stand in front of me wearing a butcher's apron and a very curious expression. "I am Eliot Goldstein." He announced expectantly. "Who sent you?"

His tone was both hesitant and skeptical and it made me wonder why he appeared so guilty. The blood on his apron gave me pause and I wondered if he were butchering the bodies of German soldiers rather than chickens, but I blushed and immediately felt guilty for thinking such things about a person who was good enough to help another. In a low and conspiratorial voice I asked, "Did you know of an American soldier named Donny?" It occurred to me that I did not know his last name and I wasn't sure how common his first name was, so I hoped we were potentially speaking of the same person.

Eliot looked vaguely uncomfortable as if we were speaking ill of the dead. "How do you know of him?" It was a reluctant admission, but he seemed genuinely relieved yet concerned.

I gave him a brief smile to assuage his anxiety. "He sends word that he has escaped."

The young shopkeeper's eyes briefly lit up with joy. "Kine Ahora!" He shouted with a wide smile, eliciting expressions of relief from the older owners. "But how?" He asked excitedly. "Did you see him? Was he well?"

I remembered the soldier's stern warning to provide the message and nothing more, so I smiled apologetically. "I was sent to let you know what has become of him and to ask for his belongings."

Eliot seemed confused at first and maybe just a little disappointed, but he never let his happiness fade entirely. Whatever dealings the two of them may have had, Eliot clearly considered him a close friend and he fetched a small bundle wrapped in burlap and secured with a small length of twine. He handed it to me almost reverently and pleaded, "If you speak with him again, let him know that we wish him well on his journey and pray Jehovah will give him strength to continue his good deed."

The elderly shop keepers would not allow me to leave without providing a basket in which to carry the bundle along with some small gifts of food. My heart was warmed after the meeting and I was not afraid as I walked through the ghetto because Eliot escorted me all the way to the perimeter- as far as he was permitted to go. He received many unkind looks from his neighbors for walking with a German woman and protecting her, but he did not seem to regret his hospitality and it did not surprise me. If his family thought it noble to hide an American soldier because it was the right thing to do, he would find brutality against me equally abhorrent and would do what he could to prevent it given the fact I too was trying to help in my own small way.

I made one more stop to gather some spare clothing from Elias for Donny and it was a challenge to find items that we thought might be to his size and as Elias himself had only a small wardrobe of wearable shirts and pants, we did the best we could. Hannah kindly agreed to wash the clothing that Donny wore for the duration of his stay because my neighbors knew that I lived alone and they might find men's clothing drying on the clothesline suspicious at best and at worst it would lead to a poor reputation for me.

Upon my return, I found Donny lounging on my sofa, wrapped tightly in a blanket like a cocoon, lightly sleeping with a cold cup of tea resting within reach on the coffee table. His hair was still damp, but he was clean shaven and appeared to be more or less comfortable given the circumstances. I quietly closed the door and placed the bundle of clothing and his package on the nightstand in my bedroom before rousting him with great effort and prodding him to be sensible and go lay down in a proper bed. It was my suspicion that he had taken more of the pain medicine because he shuffled along like the living dead and seemed excessively groggy. He sat heavily on the bed and I peeled the blanket aside far enough to view his stitches, but kept in mind that only a few centimeters separated what I wanted to see from that which I had no desire to. If he felt at all embarrassed or hesitant about being so exposed to a woman he barely knew, he didn't show it even as I leaned in very close to better see in the dim lamplight. A few small smears of crimson were streaked on the blanket, but all in all they appeared to be intact and would likely remain so until I could better inspect them in the morning.

"Like what ya see?" He asked only half- joking. He didn't seem to have the will or energy for serious jest.

"It looks like you are doing well." I answered in a professional tone. "I delivered your message and your friend wishes you well in your good deed."

"My good deed." He mimicked in a deeply sarcastic tone as he simply fell over into the pillows and let his eyes drift shut. In a soft whisper he added, "Don't feel so good right now."

I started to direct his waning attention to the pile of clothes where he would find pajamas to sleep in, but it seemed futile. Instead, I loosely wrapped him in the remaining blanket that was on the bed and headed out of the room for another cold night on the couch.


	3. Striking Out

**Chapter 3- Striking Out**

It was odd how comfortable the situation had become in the following days. The hesitant tension between us was never quite dispelled, but despite our respective reservations we learned quite a lot about one another as well as ourselves. I couldn't have guessed what he might have been thinking because he was very often quiet and secretive about the details of his life, but he did seem at least mildly curious about mine and we shared many pleasant hours in conversation over meager meals where I learned more than I could have ever imagined about the sport of baseball. Nothing seemed to ignite his passion more than sharing his, and from what he claimed America's, favorite pastime.

I would have thought that the bat stained dark with his blood would have been a detestable object to him, but he looked it over with admiration. "Louisville slugga." He nodded appreciatively. "One of the best money can buy." He gripped the handle so tightly it made the muscles in his arms flare with tightly coiled kinetic energy. The few practice swings he took made a cutting 'whoosh' sound in the room that made me flinch for fear. He laughed easily at my timidity and casually laid the giant stick against his shoulder with a beaming smile. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I ain't fully up to snuff yet so I can't swing as hard as normally would. I don't need ya naggin' me about bustin' my stitches and whatnot." He playfully teased.

I smiled politely at his bravado. "It's terrifying to think that is only a small demonstration of your capability."

His face lit up at my indulgence. "Ah yeah, you shoulda seen me back home. I could knock a ball outta the park like it was nothin'. I was the best batter on the whole south side. Everybody wanted me on their team."

"And now you're on Team America." I laughed lightly. "Are you still the best?"

"The best ya can do in my job is to go a whole day and not get your ass shot off, lady." He grumbled. "So I guess I do ok."

There was a certain sense of dark humor in his voice that saddened me just a little. "When do you get to go back to your home?" I asked softly. "You seem to miss it a great deal."

He sat on the sofa and twirled his bat with a grim expression. "I go home when this whole thing's over or in a pine box, whatever comes first. No point in leavin' if the job here ain't done and I don't half ass do nothin'. I sure as hell didn't come all this way, crawl through mud, jump outta airplanes, and dodge bullets just to go home an nothin' to show for it. No ma'am, I ain't goin' back until that Jew killin' sonuvabitch is dead or I am."

I couldn't blame him for his convictions, but I felt torn between loyalty to my own people and that of all humans. I shouldn't want to see anyone die, but I could see no end to the war if one side or the other did not submit. Germans everywhere were suffering from starvation and it would surely only grow worse if the Allies occupied our land. What few Germans remained would no doubt be made examples of for want of simple revenge. But if not us, then the Jews faced the same fate and I couldn't see any merit in either side's suffering. "Your country's apple pie is actually Austrian, you know." I ribbed him.

"So?" He shrugged. "A lotta our stuff came from somewhere else. Including the people that live there. Lotsa Irish and Italian families live near me, but ya don't hear us bitchin' about it."

"Didn't you say you were attacked by Irish men in an alley?" I reminded him. "Friends don't hurt one another."

He seemed perplexed. "Sure they do, but that's the difference with dames. Just 'cause some guy jumps ya doesn't mean he ain't your friend or never will be. When ya bust somebody up, ya find out what he's made of."

"Are the Irish men your friends now?" I scoffed. I simply couldn't imagine Hannah and I fist fighting to find out what the other was like. It seemed an inefficient way of meeting people to be sure. I envisioned America as a land where punches were as common as handshakes.

"Are you kiddin' me?" He howled. "Those two Micks are the biggest cowards on the block. I walked outta that alley lookin' like I fell through a meat grinder, but I promise ya they looked worse and they sure as shit didn't fuck with me after that." He must have caught my wince at his rough language and he sheepishly said, "Ah, hell. I gotta watch my mouth, I know. My Ma would slap me in the face if she heard me talkin' like that in front of a skirt. It's just sometimes I forget, ya know? I usually spend all my time around other fellas and we ain't always the most gentlemanly bunch."

My heart nearly exploded within me when I heard the heavy fall of footsteps on my porch. Footsteps that sure and loud could only come from jackboots and I glanced wildly at Donny. "Hide!" I hissed in terror. He grabbed his bat and moved quickly to hide around the corner in the hallway as I tried my best to regain my composure so as not to appear suspicious and waited for the knock on the door that I knew might seal my fate. I opened the door and gave a faltering smile to the tall SS soldier on the other side. "Good afternoon," I choked out at his smug grin, wondering if he knew my terrible secret, "what can I do for you?"

His smile grew wider and he gave me a sharp nod. "Good afternoon, Fraulein. The question is, what can you do for your country?" He asked, handing me a flyer embossed with the Nazi party logo. "You can do your part by attending a dance for our soldiers this Friday. Many of our men are far from their homes fighting for the motherland and it is a small thing to spend the evening entertaining them. It would surely help their morale to be in the company of a person such as yourself." He slyly hinted. "Everything will be provided, all that is expected of you is to bring a cheerful attitude and a comfortable pair of dancing shoes. May I count on your presence?"

I looked over the flyer and knew that his request was not really a choice. "Of course," I coyly consented, "that is, unless I am required to see to the wounded men in the clinic at that time."

He seemed impressed by my commitment to the soldiers that went far beyond a dance. "A far greater charity, Fraulein. It would be wonderful if you were able to attend, but understandable if your duties dictate otherwise." He gave another quick bow and went on his way to the next house. I quietly shut the door and let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Donny peeked around the corner cautiously, his bat raised and ready. "He gone?" He whispered.

"Yes." I replied, feeling sick from what could have been. It was my first brush with the very real consequences of my choices and it was unnerving to say the least. It was only blind luck that in the daylight the soldier couldn't see into the house to witness the close call. I simply had to be more careful.

He seemed to feel the same as he hung back from the windows, watching the door closely as if he suspected the soldier of returning. "What was all that about?"

"An invitation to a dance." I sighed, tossing the flyer onto the table in defeat.

Although he couldn't read the German words, he clearly recognized the swastika at the top of the notice and he frowned deeply. "Ya gonna go?"

"Against my wishes, but yes." I mumbled. "I must keep up appearances if I am to survive this."

He appeared to understand even if he didn't agree. "'Cause if you don't, people will start askin' questions." He guessed. "Look, Mila," I glanced up in surprise because it was the first time he called me by my name, "I should go. It ain't safe for either of us for me to be here."

"But your…" I started to object, gesturing to his stitched side. It was healing as well as could be expected, but it was still prone to infection or worse if he got into any further fights.

"It ain't bleedin' or nothin' no more, and it's a hell of a lot better than what'll happen if another soldier walks up on us." He argued, gently lowering his bat. "Ya did all ya could and I appreciate it, but I really gotta go."

Of course he was right, but despite the danger a small part of me still felt sad at the thought of his departure. Rude and unrefined as he was, he had been good company over the past week and I felt guilty that I in no way could ensure his safety when he walked out the door. I wasn't sure exactly why I felt responsible for him, but I did. "Where will you go? How will you get past all the guards?"

He paused and tossed a curious glance in my direction. "Why ya so worried all a sudden?"

Flustered that he might have misinterpreted my concern, I stammered, "I..I just thought…"

He grinned cockily and nodded, content that his interpretation was the correct one. "Well, I ain't tellin'. Might as well take that Ruger outta your nightstand and shoot myself in the head and save the krauts the trouble of huntin' me down themselves or worse yet, lead 'em right to the rest of my outfit."

He disappeared into my bedroom and fetched the burlap bundle he asked me to retrieve while I stood there balking at the realization that he had gone through my drawers and found the gun I kept as a last resort of protection. When he returned, he opened the bundle and removed a large knife which he tucked into the waistband of his pants and a shiny necklace with silver dog tags that he draped around his neck.

In one instant he became the soldier he said he was and the reality of the situation hit me full force. "Well," I mumbled miserably at the inevitable, "I wish you well in your journey. Hopefully you can return to your homeland soon- alive."

He pulled on the coat Elias had loaned him and swallowed uncomfortably. "I ain't real good at this stuff, but…" he struggled to find the right words to say, but his demeanor said it all.

"I know." I granted with a melancholic smile. "But shouldn't you wait until dark? They will surely see you and if they stop you…"

He gave me a weary look that reminded me that his plans were secret and not to be discussed. "Don't worry about me, doll. Worry about yourself and keep outta trouble, ya hear?"

I slowly nodded as a promise and said, "Be safe and don't get into any more fights with SS soldiers."

He chuckled and reached for the weapon he earned with his own blood. "Lady, I get paid to fight krauts and this time, I got the bat."

I went to the dance that Friday and every event after that if I could not find a plausible and convenient excuse, but it felt hollow because I didn't believe in the Nazi cause. I believed our country could be a better place for all citizens, but as the days and months passed and the Allied armies grew closer and closer, the rhetoric and accusations against Jews became more wild and the attacks against them more frantic. Not one day went by that I didn't think of Donny when I passed the ghetto and I wondered if he was able to escape as he had planned or if he was captured and not so fortunate to have others who covered for him, but there was no word of him nor did I expect there to be.

If he did in fact survive, I wondered if he would march through our town with his fellow men at arms after the tide of devastation had swept over us and what things he would see. Would my town look just like all the others he spoke of? It certainly felt like impending doom even though the propaganda films insisted that we were winning the war. I was starting to think that Donny was right about them because all one needed to do was step out the doors of the cinema and look around to see that the end was near.

It was some months later that the whispers began. Wounded soldiers in my care shared tales of a man they called "The Bear Jew" in hushed tones as though they were summoning the devil. The more the commanders tried to silence the hysterical men, the bigger the legend became. Some swore he was an unnatural force without a soul and the strength of 10 men, and others said he could smell the blood of a German from a mile away, but what all agreed on was that he left a trail of dead soldiers in his path. This Bear Jew supposedly crushed the skulls of his victims by beating them to death with a club, but no one knew for certain because anyone who had ever laid eyes on him did not live to tell about it. All that was left for evidence were piles of bodies that had the tops of their heads cut off and dog tags stolen. Rarely, a soldier would claim to have met with the Bear Jew and his comrades only to be let go after a swastika was carved into his forehead, but they were usually dismissed as mad men.

It wasn't long before the fear began to spread among the ranks like fire at the mention of the Bear Jew because the group's brutal reputation was well earned. Their leader, Lieutenant Aldo "Apache" Raines and his company came to be referred to as the "Basterds" by the German command and it was becoming increasingly clear that the name only gave credence to their actual existence. They were as ghosts, stories and sightings popped up all over the region as though they could be all places at once and I spent many nights at the bedsides of terrified soldiers, begging me to change notes in their charts so that they may be discharged from service rather than be sent back out to face the Bear Jew. I would sit quietly in my newly required Nazi uniform and patiently listen to their fears and urge them to be brave even if I understood their desire for some kind of peace. Each night I returned to my home and took off my uniform as though it burned my skin and felt the same as the soldiers did. I too wanted a swift end to the suffering and wondered if at the end of it all any of it would be worth the sacrifice.


	4. Safe!

**A/N: And here we are! Thanks for indulging me in my little one-shot!**

**Chapter 4- Safe!**

If I remember the day I met the Bear Jew for the first time, I also remember the last with equal clarity. It was the height of summer when it felt as though Mother Nature herself breathed hellfire down on us just as the Allies did. No propaganda film no matter how well made could make me believe that we were anything but dead men and women. The Allies were at our gates and ready to kick the door in and the town was in chaos.

I didn't know if Donny ever survived his escape, but he got his wish of rebellion when the Jews in the ghetto revolted as soon as they recognized that their oppressors were fleeing in droves and leaving the perimeter unguarded. For the most part I was safe from their wrath because Donny's good Samaritan associate Eliot made it known in the community that I was a friend of his people by virtue of helping the American soldier among others, but I could not count on his charity when the Allied soldiers arrived because he had no influence with them. It seemed his good deed had only served to prolong my demise.

Complicating matters was the way we had been abandoned by our leaders when defeat had become undeniable. The Nazi commanders retreated toward Berlin to regroup, or so we were told, while low level foot soldiers and officers were ordered to remain behind to protect what few citizens remained and slow the progress of the invasion. Victory was never spoken of or expected as an outcome and the implicit understanding we were left with was to die well for the motherland. I never embraced the Nazi party's policies, but I obeyed for my own reasons. It was my professional duty to see to the sick and dying until the end. It was a commitment that extended to all- Jew and Nazi, American or German and it was a service I knew I would die performing even as I was drug away from the bedside of a young soldier at the clinic and marched to the edge of the town by a group of rouge Jewish boys.

"Faster!" One shouted as he jabbed me in the back with a sharpened stick. "Do not be so slow to face your death!"

I plodded along the street with my hands above my head and squinting in the hot sun. The clinic had been taken over by the Nazi party some months ago and as a condition of employment, all had to wear uniforms to make the wounded soldiers feel as if they were receiving the best care from their fellow countrymen- a show of solidarity of sorts- and now I was marked for all to see even though I did not belong with the 6 others who were also being paraded towards the woods. I contemplated demanding the boys find Eliot and speak with him, but it would look like cowardice on my part and as the sweat began to run down my face, I had to ask myself if this was not perhaps the most merciful end. I was tired, frustrated, and saddened by the fighting and suffering. To die would not bring peace to my country or to the world, but it would to me and maybe that was the best I could ever hope for.

When we reached the edge of the woods, we were forced to kneel facing a low stone wall that marked the outer limit of the town. I found out the hard way that we were not permitted to look to the trees when the boy who was guarding me moved to use the sharp end of his homemade weapon to push my face back toward the wall and ended up cutting a deep scratch into my cheek. It stung and burned, but I dared not reach for it to prevent the blood from running down my face.

It was some time before we heard the rustling of leaves and the deeply accented voice of an American followed by a much lower pitched translation from another man in German. "Afternoon." He greeted politely. "Name's Aldo Raine and these here are my associates." It was unclear who he was referring to since we could not turn to look, but either it did not occur to him or he didn't care and he went on. "There's a bunch a Tommies and Canuk folk a ways back, but they sent us on ahead to tell y'all that they'll be along shortly to burn your whole town down free of charge. In the meantime, we have our own part to do. Now, y'all might have heard that we go 'round scalpin' innocent Germans and I'm here to tell y'all that ain't true 'cause there is no such thing as an innocent German." The collective laughter of a few men filled the air and their leader let it die down before he continued. "But we simply ain't got the time to deal with every single goddamn kraut we run across, that's why we're only interested in Nazi soldiers and officers." He paused perhaps to do something or just to let the tension rise, I couldn't be sure, but I didn't chance another glance. "Looks to me like y'all are Nazis, so today's your day to die. Sergeant Donowitz," he yelled back towards the woods, "come on down and help introduce these poor sons a bitches to their maker."

"Gimme a minute!" A rough voice called back.

The men began laughing again and Raine chuckled along with them. "Well, I guess now we all know the answer to the conundrum of does a bear shit in the woods."

At the mention of the word, panicked whispers traveled up and down the line of "Bear Jew!" like a spark igniting a wick. Like a frightened animal, a young officer jumped to his feet and bolted off toward the town, apparently content with either making it or dying and he was shot dead before he made his second step. His body fell heavily to the ground a few feet away from me and as the others tried not to scream or cry in terror at their own inevitable demise, one of the men kneeled down and cut off the scalp of the dead soldier.

"Nice job, Hirschberg." Raine commended, removing a small amount of what I assumed to be tobacco from a box and snorting it. "How many you still owe me?"

"47, Sir." The man responded, dangling the freshly separated patch of skin by the strands of dark hair.

"You're fallin' behind, son. Wicki here's got more than you and he spends all his time yammerin' kraut for us." He snapped the box shut and reminded, "I want my scalps." There was more rustling leaves and it seemed to lift the spirits of the men. "Now watch and see how it's done."

I felt my breath catch in my throat and I closed my eyes. Behind us, a man slowly paced back and forth, the hollow sound of wood tapping against his boot as he walked echoed as loudly as gunshots. Finally, he paused and I felt sick because his large shadow was cast directly over me. I felt a light tap on my lower back from his club and he roughly ordered, "Get up."

The men laughed and whistled at my approaching death as I slowly complied. Raine snickered heartily and commented, "That's mighty gentlemanly of you, Donowitz. Ladies first."

He seemed to ignore them and in a suspicious tone he commanded, "Turn around." I kept my hands over my head and cautiously turned to face him, but I kept my eyes lowered and I took note of the many German dog tags that hung around his neck and just past his leg, a darkly stained bat that read "Louisville." He reached up to lift my chin and force me to look at him and when I did, I couldn't bear the disappointment and disgust swirling in very familiar dark eyes. "He musta been a hell of a dancer to make ya sell out." He bitterly accused. "I thought I told ya to stay outta trouble."

"I did." I quietly answered, relieved that he had survived, but frightened that I might not. "I am not a Nazi, you know that."

He scoffed sarcastically. "Ya sure as hell look like one, doll."

"I had to wear this uniform to do my job." I explained. "To avoid suspicion, but I no more wanted to than I wanted to go to the dance. I did what I had to do, and I understand if you do as well. I only ask that you be as merciful to me as I was to you." I humbly requested. It was inconceivable to me that the man I tended to had become the feared Bear Jew and I wondered if any of the rumors of his brutality were true, but I had to assume that he did not gather his stolen dog tags by asking for them politely.

"Hey, Donny." One the men called impatiently. "Are you going to kiss her or kill her?"

"Yeah!" Another chimed in. "You trying to get a date or what?"

The translator smiled and suggested, "If you want to get a German woman, offer her your bratwurst." The men erupted into fits of laughter at his lewd joke, but I looked away in disgust.

Raine piped up again in a serious tone that reinforced his position of authority. "It ain't polite to keep ladies waitin', Donowitz, and we ain't got the time to terry and watch you sharpen your Romeo skills." He warned in a low tone. "Get on with the business that's to be gotten to."

He looked down at me and it was clear that he was torn between his duty and a sense of justice. I simultaneously represented the cruelty he fought against and he everything he despised as well as the compassion and mercy that saved him from dying alone in the street in spite of his nationality and heritage. "Swear to me," he growled in a low voice, "that ya ain't no Nazi. Swear that you'd burn that stinkin' uniform if ya could and that ya still don't want nothin' to do with killin' Jews and I'll let ya live."

"I swear to you." I vowed, looking him directly in the eye, grateful for his humanity and his ability to overlook his obligation to his comrades to spare my life just as I did his.

He gave me a tight nod as his nostrils flared. "God so help me, lady, if I find out you lied, I'll come back and bash ya teeth in myself. Hear me?" I quickly nodded and he gave me a small shove toward the man who made the rude joke. "Wicki, keep an eye on her while we send the rest a' these pork eatin' bastards to their graves."

Raine, an older looking man with an obvious scar around his neck, smirked and shook his head as he watched me do as I was told and stand by the tall translator. "So Donny walks the dame. That never happens." His eyes twinkled as he added, "Now there's got to be a real good story as to why and I look forward to hearin' all about it. But if you'll excuse me, I have to go and viciously murder your countrymen."

Aldo Raine was a man of his word. I looked away from the gruesome scene of spraying blood and brutality the men inflicted on my fellow citizens, guilty that I was held apart and I knew they questioned me with their dying eyes. I could block out the sight, but I could not become deaf to the sound of wood splitting skull and the agonized screams of the dying as their scalps were removed with blunt knives.

When it was all over, Donny and Raine rejoined me and my guard. Donny's body was slick with sweat and the blood of the dead as he lightly panted and rested his bat against his bulging shoulder, leaving behind a smear of blood on his skin. "So," Raine said cheerfully, "were we saving the best for last?"

"Nah." Donny replied, looking to me to perhaps judge if his actions in any way sickened me. In fact they did because it was in such stark contrast to the man who lived in my home for a week. He was never exactly polite, but he was no monster either. "She was the one that saved my ass while I was stuck here awhile back."

Raines squinted down on me as though he were deep in contemplation. "Now, we don't normally make exceptions, but if he says ya rendered him some much needed aid, well then I'm inclined to just take him at his word. Mighty risky to do what ya did and as he is my best man and second in command, if he wants to let ya go, I'll not say otherwise."

Donny gave him a small nod of gratitude for the favor, but still seemed unsettled. "Could we maybe not…" he paused awkwardly, "ya know…" he gestured vaguely to his forehead and summed, "she really ain't like that."

His superior seemed a little put out for the additional stipulation, but consented before turning to me to place his hands on his hips. "Alright, but everyone's gonna wanna know why you got away, and ya can't very well tell them it was because ya saved a Yankee Jew, or a _Bear Jew_, now can you?" I shook my head no and he continued. "And ya can't say it was on account of your being a skirt either. 'Cause well, that just sets bad precedent for us. Every dame from here clear to Moscow will think that they can get away with consortin' with Nazis just 'cause they have a nice honey pot." The men again sniggered at the coarse slang. "An' we can't have that. So here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna go to the nearest house and steal some clothes and you're gonna run away. Ya can't come back here 'cause your neighbors might ask questions and it's all gonna be gone in a day or two anyway. People think the Canuks are peaceable people, but you know where they live, don't ya?"

"Canada." I mumbled.

"Yep." He assented. "A land with nothin' but snow and bears and you know that they are stone cold sons a bitches to live in a climate like that. Bein' as such, they're especially fond of fire so imagine what they will do to you if they find you wearing that uniform. Now you'd best get along." He motioned for me to shoo and turned back to his men.

I looked back to Donny and sincerely said, "Thank you. You saved my life."

He hung his head and stared at the grass under his boots. "Don't get too soggy on me. It was only fair I suppose. Now we're even." He was surprisingly modest considering he had just bludgeoned people to death only moments before.

"So after I run away, should I never speak of you again?" I asked curiously.

He chuckled and lowered his bat. "Don't matter, I guess. Nobody will believe ya nohow. Nobody comes face to face with the Bear Jew and lives, remember? Anyhow, you'd better go. The Allies are only a few miles from here." He pointed with his bloody bat to the West to indicate the direction from which they approached. I turned to head back to the town and he called after me, "Hey! Remember, if you lied, I'll come back and bash your pretty head in!" His tone was more melancholic than menacing, but I didn't doubt for a minute that he wasn't firm in his convictions.

I never looked back and I never met the Bear Jew again. I did as Raine suggested and fled to the home of friends in the occupied territory and eventually made my way to France where I settled after the war, but I did always wonder what became of him. I never heard of his demise, which the Nazis would have triumphantly proclaimed had it happened, so I choose to believe that he eventually saw the end of the war and returned to his home in Boston to work on the shipping docks and play his baseball. He was no doubt a monster to many, but he saved my life when he had no official obligation to and that is how I choose to remember the Bear Jew- ferocious yet protective of those who had a claim to his mercy.


End file.
